


r e d

by magma_maiden



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6702229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magma_maiden/pseuds/magma_maiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>an entry for a 2014 secret santa event. hetalia is himaruya's; I took no material profit from this fic. fem!italy = sera.</p><p>brief description of murder. blood.</p>
    </blockquote>





	r e d

**Author's Note:**

> an entry for a 2014 secret santa event. hetalia is himaruya's; I took no material profit from this fic. fem!italy = sera.
> 
> brief description of murder. blood.

 

_She had no name. She used to have one, but they took it from her. They had no names either. They said they did not need any. What they needed was the swiftness of wind, the sharpness of steel and the night that engulfed their existence._

Francis' hand stopped moving, his quill went back into the inkwell. The world was silent, too silent for his liking. Not even a single bird chirped outside as the night spread its mantle to the western horizon. Perhaps the world did silence itself, trying to understand the event that happened just half a day ago.

It was supposed to be a joyful occasion. A feast was held to celebrate Prince Feliciano's birthday. Yet what happened was close to a tragedy. Had she did not interfere the silence tonight would be replaced by the wailing of women and the ringing of the bells, mourning the loss of their princes.

The man glanced at his writing, then back to the unconscious young woman on the bed across the room. Before today, Francis knew her as Lady Sera from Russo family, suitor to the younger prince. But now... he sighed. He did not want to believe it; he wanted it to be a lie. How could he let Prince Feliciano, his student and distant kin, marry an assassin who was sent to kill him? Furthermore, the assassin was not a part of some ragtag band. The assassins were an old order, the culprit of several deaths in the span of two centuries in the kingdom's history. Nobles, merchants and peasants alike had met their ends at the tip of their blades. So terrible was their reputation no one dared to say their name, afraid it would invite them into their house.

Not that they needed any.

Lord Francis Bonnefoy knew he would not have anything more to add into his writing until the woman spoke to him. So he closed his inkwell and rolled the parchment. A faint rustle came behind him, but the prince's mentor did not show any sign that he did notice it. He ignored the soft noises until a whispered question inquired his presence.

"You should not be alone here."

Despite having been weakened by her wounds, the woman looked as alert as a seasoned fighter. She sat on the bed with her back straight, bruised fists curled on the blanket. Francis, being a skilled fighter himself, was ready to react in case she decided to attack him. For a moment they only looked at each other. Waiting.

Then he smiled. "Good evening, miss. The guards are outside, perhaps listening as we speak now." He lied. Prince Feliciano did not want her room guarded like a prison cell. Nevertheless, the guards were stationed a bit far from this room, making sure no one come and go unnoticed. Francis took the candle on the desk, bringing the light as he stepped closer to the bed.

"You should be afraid."

"After what I saw at the feast?" he raised an eyebrow. "If that's what you mean, then yes, I am afraid."

"You don't seem hesitate to say so. You should leave."

Her words were spoken flatly, emotionless. They were not orders, just statements. Francis detected a faint threat within her voice, but he brushed it off. If the prince himself said he felt safe with Lady Se-- this woman, then he had no reason to feel afraid. She seemed to realize whatever she said would not affect him the way she wanted. Her eyes scanned the room briefly before returning to the blond man.

"I should be in jail."

This time Francis shook his head. "You have saved the princes' lives. Why would we put you together with thieves and muggers?" He sat on the edge of the bed after placing the candle near the door. "You may want to lie down again, and I suggest you to do it. Your wounds will heal faster that way." His advice was received by a cold stare, yet he continued, "The healer will check on you in an hour or two. Maybe Feliciano himself will come."

Her apathetic demeanor cracked as the name escaped Francis' lips. Her lips parted and closed slowly, eyes widening as they stole a glance at the closed door.

"In the meantime..." Francis' voice stole her attention again. "Why don't you tell me a story?"

Confusion clouded her expression. "What if I refuse?"

"What if I tell you more about Feliciano after you give me the story?"

"Fine. What story?"

"Yours. About you."

"You are well-versed in history, Lord Bonnefoy. You know everything about us, more than an average peasant does."

"My knowledge comes from books. The kingdom's lore and old scrolls. Not from someone who has lived among... them," he paused, letting his words to soak into the woman's mind. "You will be the first person who shares it to anyone."

She blinked and took a deep breath. "Do I have to tell you the interesting details too?"

"Just start from the beginning, I will listen to everything."

The woman leaned on the pillow. "Oh, but it's boring, my lord. I was a starving child without any guardians when they picked me. Everyone had experienced a similar thing: almost died from starvation during winter. They gave me food and clothes. I did not need any more reason than that to stay with them." Her voice was relaxed, like she was telling him her mundane daily life.

Francis nodded in response. He knew this already. Their members were the forgotten ones, the nameless and the poorest. People who needed protection the most.

"Like the other children, first I was taught how to steal. Fresh bread, cheese, sometimes clothes or more valuable items we can sell in the black market. Then we learned to trail certain people. As silent as possible. And then we reported back what we saw, hear and smell."

"This... is new," Francis commented. Now he knew how they find their targets.

"You will hear more new things from me, I presume." Her lips curled upwards a little. "Successful jobs brought rewards and holidays. Failures brought punishments, less meal and thinner clothes. I never failed, if you're curious my lord." For a second a smirk danced on her expression. "While everyone was taught how to kill, not all of us raised to be an assassin. Only the best ones did. The others then taught other skills so they could work as civilians. They are everywhere."

"How many...?"

The woman shrugged. "Could be tens of thousands."

"Oh..."

"You look surprised, my lord."

"No. No, I'm not..." Francis straightened his back, pulling his collar a little. It did surprise him. Three hundred was their greatest number as estimated by the scholars. "Please continue with your story."

"My scouting days ended when I made my first kill. I was eleven, and the target was a young woman. She was ugly, but once she had her blood splattered all over her face, she became prettier." The woman grinned. "I even painted her bed red, decorated her pillows with--"

Francis raised his hand, his face pale. "Please..."

"Terribly sorry, my lord," he heard her apologized, but he knew she did not mean it. "I'll just say that my... hm, superiors were not pleased by my action. We kill clean and in silence, but I made a visual masterpiece instead. We do not play with the dead, but I did." She lowered her gaze, her shoulders shaking as a quiet laugh leaving her mouth. "It was fun."

The bed sheet felt colder on Francis' fingers. She was still smiling when their eyes met again. The bell had long stopped ringing. The world outside the bedroom was as silent as a grave.

"A couple of dead men and women later, I was given a task that would take me years to complete, as I needed to learn a handful of other skills I did not have at that time. And that brings us here." Her tone indicated that her story was over. It was quite strange for Francis, how she could tell him everything without hesitation once she started. Perhaps she had grown to enjoy the storytelling halfway. Then again, who sat before him was not a mere citizen. But an assassin who had seen death from a young age.

"So why did you choose to protect Feliciano?" Francis asked, glad finally he could move to the main topic he had wanted to know.

"He's not my main target-- it was the king. The other assassins you killed were meant to take care of the princes as I kill the king." She looked interested with her bruised hands.

Francis could close his eyes and see the event being replayed in his mind. A couple servants passed the main table at Prince Feliciano's birthday to refill the wine. Lady Sera-- this woman jumped onto the table and knocked the wine jug off the table. Then she chased the servants, killed one with a meat knife, and then fought the other. He screamed at the terrified guests, telling them her real identity before he died. Francis ordered the guards to move the royal family elsewhere while 'Lady Sera' swept the crowd to look for any possible assassin. She faced four more assassins until the guards captured her unconscious. Feliciano, despite his brothers' objection, requested to place her in one of the bedrooms.

Looking back at the woman on the bed, Francis finally accepted that the sweet lady who was supposed to marry Prince Feliciano and the deadly assassin were the same person after all.

The room became darker as the fire reached the candle's base. Francis rose to lit another one. "That still doesn't answer my question, my lady. One of the wine bearers was about to strike Feliciano after you knocked the wine jug away. You protected him." Francis turned to face her. "Why?"

"You might find the reason is... stupid," she averted her gaze as she spoke.

"A reason is a reason. I'll promise to tell no one if you wish."

But a knock on the door stole his attention. Before Francis opened it, the door swung inwards to reveal a healer and Prince Feliciano himself. Although his mentor stood closer and he never--not even once--forgot to greet him, this time he rushed to the bed, calling the woman's name aloud.

"Sera! Are you alright? Brother wouldn't let me see you-- aah! What happened to your hands?" he turned and motioned the healer to come closer. While she tended her wound, Feliciano kept babbling, telling her how he had been worried. "I saw you leaving me and the next thing I know, my guards escorted me away! Then they said that you are one of them. That's not true, right? Right?"

Francis noticed that the woman was smiling. A sincere smile she always wore as Lady Sera. She even let the prince touched her uncombed hair. The nobleman stepped closer, intending to distract Feliciano so the healer could work more comfortably, but his feet froze as he realized something.

A string hung from Feliciano's chest, connecting him to the woman's. They were seen together quite often in this past year, but it's the first time the string was visible to Francis' eyes, reflecting the candle's light. The legend of mysterious string was not unfamiliar for him, yet he never witnessed it himself. Too many people fall in love not with their intended soulmate, and the legend itself said the string would not be visible unless a bond had been formed between them. Many scholars dismissed it as a part of folklore, but he was one of the few who chose to believe it. The healer, despite sitting close to the couple, did not seem to notice it. Neither did Feliciano.

The prince's suitor held his hand, bandaged fingers gently caressing his. She let Feliciano laid his head on her lap; her gaze at him was tender, almost motherly. After a moment that felt like forever, Sera Russo--with unkempt hair and worn clothes instead of satin--beamed at Lord Francis Bonnefoy and whispered to him.

"Can you see it?"

Francis nodded, knowing what she meant. He got his answer, and he was glad.


End file.
